


5 times Percival said he was okay and 1 time he couldn’t

by HistoriaGloria



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dissociation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Nightmares, Temporary Character Death, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-05-28 14:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19396183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoriaGloria/pseuds/HistoriaGloria
Summary: Percy is so stubborn, wearing his cool nature as a mask. But is he really okay?





	5 times Percival said he was okay and 1 time he couldn’t

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!! Still full of ideas, this has been bothering me for a little while so here is the Sad Gun Boi.  
> Hope you like it!

**_One, Grog Strongjaw:_ **

Grog doesn’t make a habit of wandering around Greyskull Keep late at night, but really, he is thirsty, and he wants ale. So, into the kitchen he trudges, when there is a loud crashing sound, like an explosion. It comes from the basement.

Which means Percy is still working.

Hefting his mug of ale, Grog grunts and heads down the steps into the basement to see the human in question stumble out of his workshop, covered head to foot in soot and smoke escaping the room.

“You blowing shit up again?” he asks, as Percy looks up, his glasses askew and covered in dust.

“Not on purpose,” protests the gunslinger, coughing heavily. “Needed to make more ammunition and I put the powder too close to the forge. Nothing too badly damaged.” Even as he speaks, Grog can smell the blood. It’s in his hair, out of the corner of his mouth and Percy is holding his side uncomfortably.

“You sure about that? You look pretty roughed up.”

“I’m fine,” wheezes Percy and the blood trickling from his mouth is now covering his teeth. Grog scowls.

“Honestly, we should get you to Scanlan or Keyleth. You’re injured.” And he approaches to emphasise this, and Percy jumps back, hissing in pain.

“I’m fine. I’m not bothering them with something like this,” he insists, waving the hand that was holding his side. It’s covered in blood. Grog’s scowl deepens.

“Percy, you’re hurt. At least, take a potion or some shit? I’ve got one in the bag,” he grunts as the gunslinger begins to sway ever so slightly on his feet.

“No, no, I’m not wasting our potions on me being an idiot and my hands not staying steady after seeing those fuckers at dinner!” Percy hisses and Grog frowns, thinking back to the meal they had had with the Briarwoods that night. Honestly, if he had gone to a dinner with people who had killed his family, he would have killed them on sight. Well, maybe not if they had killed the Herd of Storms. But the way Percy had talked about it, it would have been more like if someone had killed Pike or Wilhand.

No wonder his hands weren’t steady, and he couldn’t sleep.

“We need you to be ready. Who knows what will happen tomorrow?” grunts out the goliath, reaching for the Bag of Holding which he had on him as per always. “We might have to kill more people.” Percy is leaning on the wall now, his legs trembling visibly.

“I’m fine,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Bullshit,” replies Grog, holding out one of the many regular healing potions he had within the Bag of Holding. “Drink it.” His scowl consistent, Percy does begrudgingly take the potion and drink it. It’s not a lot, but its enough to stop the shake in the gunslinger’s legs and allow him to straighten up. He ducks his head in a way which could be considered a thank you. As Percy moves to head back into his workshop, Grog blocks the entrance.

“Grog, I need-”

“No,” says the goliath firmly. “Go rest. That’s what you need. No more work, Percy.” The gunslinger scowls up at him and for a second, Grog thinks that he is going to fight him. But then the anger in Percy’s face vanishes, replaced by exhaustion.

“Fine,” he mutters bitterly, turning to walk away back up to his room. Grog watches as the human stumbles and sways up the stairs, before closing the door to his workshop and following him. Perhaps they should be keeping a more careful eye on their resident human, at least until this issue with the Briarwoods is dealt with.

* * *

**_Two, Keyleth of the Air Ashari:_ **

Keyleth is worried. It’s not surprising that she is, considering the situation currently, with Vox Machina holed up in Whitestone, starting a guerrilla war with the Briarwoods.

She worries for their safety, yes, obviously, but she is more worried about Percy. He had always been so closed off about why they had found him in that jail cell, what were the things he woke screaming about, why did he create his guns in the first place. And then, he had told them everything. He had told them about the Briarwoods and the people they had kept and everything he had suffered through. And she can understand the anger. That is good and clean and important.

But there’s something else now, with Percy. Something different. The black smoke that pours from his cuffs and swirls around his body makes her feel restless and uncomfortable. So, late one night as they hide out in their carved out pocket beneath the Sun Tree, Keyleth summons up the courage to speak to him about it.

“Percy?” she whispers.

“Yes?” comes the quiet response as she meets his eyes. Her vision is grey-scale, dark vision allowing her to see the gentle frown on Percy’s face. But she knows he can’t see her at all. With a little sigh, she lights up her hands with fire and Percy’s face relaxes as he can now see her.

“How are you doing?” The human blinks a little.

“I’m doing fine. I’m tired, but I’m fine.”

“Are you really?” she presses, frowning. Percy’s brow furrows immediately.

“Yes. I mean, it’s been a lot being back here, but I am okay. I am in control. And I can do this,” he says, his voice a little sharp. Keyleth sighs and slides over to sit beside him, not quite touch.

“I don’t want to know if you’re in control, Percy, I want to know what’s going on! I want to know why you have all this smoke around you, I want to know if I can trust you!” Percy’s eyes harden.

“I am fine, Keyleth. Let it go. And, of course, you can’t trust me. You should never have tried to trust me in the first place.”

“Percy,” she implores but the gunslinger cuts her off.

“No, Keyleth. I am _fine,_ leave me alone. I’m going to talk a walk.” And with that, before she can protest, he storms out, heading up out of the tunnel. Keyleth sighs heavily, but she knows she can’t leave him. So, quietly, she follows Percy.

He is pacing in the bar area which they have taken as a home, apparently talking to himself. Keyleth sighs, frowning a little but as she goes to move, black smoke curls up from around Percy’s ankles.

“ _You’re so close to revenge now. You have to keep fighting Percival, take all of their lives,”_ hisses a voice which makes Keyleth shudder.

“I know, I know,” mutters Percy, holding his head. “They, they, they deserve it.”

“ _Yes. Torture them as they tortured you. End them.”_

“Percy!” calls Keyleth and the black smoke swirls frustratedly. Percy looks up, his pupils pinpricks in his wide blue eyes. “Come back to the group, Percy. Come on.” She holds out a hand, so worried of what was happening to her friend, but he wasn’t talking to her.

“I, I… I’m fine,” he chokes out, the smoke dripping from his mouth now. “I’m fine!” Keyleth scowls and tries a different approach.

“Yes, yes. You’re fine, it’s all fine… Come on, now Percy. It’s time to rest. So that we can do more tomorrow.” But the gunslinger doesn’t move, trembling as the smoke coils around him. Careful, Keyleth creates a small patch of moonlight around them both, soothing and gentle.

“Come back downstairs, Percy,” she murmurs, the moonlight chasing away the black smoke for a moment and the gunslinger trembles as he stumbles over to her.

“I’m fine,” he protests as Keyleth gently guides him down the stairs, arm thrown over his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Percy, its okay.” And she vows as she leads Percival back to the group to not let him leave her sight whilst they are in Whitestone.

* * *

**_Three, Scanlan Shorthalt_ **

The day is grey. Scanlan stands on the battlements of Whitestone Castle, waiting as they plan to go take down Vorugal. There is an unspoken hesitation now, with Percival only just returned to them and as exhausted as he is. Fighting an ancient white dragon whilst you are down your gunslinger seems fairly illogical.

He hasn’t seen Percy since the resurrection, but the others have assured him that he has passed out in his room, needing the rest. It really had hit home just how young Percy was when he was lying there, cold and lifeless. He was no more than a child. Kaylie was about the same age as him. Scanlan sighs, heading back into the castle proper. He wasn’t any use out here worrying about the gunslinger.

He’d have to go find him himself.

Percy isn’t difficult to find. He is curled up in his bed and Scanlan almost relaxes, thinking that he is still sleeping, when the light catches the edge of Percy’s blue eyes. Open.

“Percy?” he asks, quietly. There is no response from the gunslinger and Scanlan decides to creep over. “Percy?” he tries again and even though he is in the line of sight of the other, his eyes do not focus. The bard frowns and begins to get closer, holding out his hand. There is no reaction from the human, right up until touches his shoulder.

And Percy screams as though Scanlan has branded him. The gnome leaps back in surprise as Percy curls in on himself, muttering feverishly,

“No, no, I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll be good, please, no.”

“Percy, it’s just me, it’s Scanlan,” he tries, his voice gentle and placating. “You’re safe, we’re in Whitestone.”

“Please, I’m, I’m sorry, please,” he begs quietly, his blue eyes glazed over and fixed on a faraway point. “I’ll be good, I’ll behave, please don’t hurt me, Doctor Ripley, please…”

Anger boils in Scanlan’s belly at the agonising fear in the boy’s voice and he suddenly wishes they had taken longer killing Ripley. It would have at least made him feel better. Inhaling deeply, the gnome reaches out and shakes Percy’s shoulder sharply.

“Look at me, Percy!” But the human only cowers further away, crying out in pain.

“No, no, please, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, please!” Scanlan feels so conflicted, unable to help Percy as trembles and cries.

“Oh, Percy, please, come on…” he murmurs and sighs heavily. “Okay, I’m so sorry, but here we go.” Percy is huddled into his blankets now as Scanlan mutters a quick curse under his breath to send a jolt of psychic pain to his brain in an attempt to pull him free.

Percival goes still.

“Fuck,” he curses quietly, his arms shaking as he blinks his eyes clear. “Scanlan?”

“Sorry, Percy. Back with me?” asks the gnome cautiously as the other sits up, hand to his head.

“Yeah. Sorry about that, I’m fine now.”

“Are you?” Scanlan huffs, sensing avoidance immediately.

“I’m fine, really. Just, ah, I guess seeing An-Anna again brought back some bad memories,” Percival says, far too lightly for someone who had dissociated moments earlier. Scanlan immediately scowls.

“You’re not fine,” he says firmly, taking Percy’s hand suddenly. He doesn’t even attempt to pull away, his hand trembling under Scanlan’s much smaller ones. “It’s okay not to be fine. You just died, Percy.”

“I’m… fine,” he croaks out but remains hunched over, shaking. “I have to be okay.” Scanlan shakes his head, rubbing his thumb reassuringly over Percy’s hands.

“You don’t have to be okay at all. It is perfectly acceptable for you to be unhappy, considering recent events.” The human looks up at him, blue eyes huge and wet with unshed tears. And again, Scanlan is struck by the youthfulness of Percival. He himself must thrice his age at least. He reaches up to gently touch his cheek. “You have a family again, Percy, let us help.” And the gunslinger is silent for a long moment.

“I… I am grateful for all of you,” he says, weakly. “Thank, thank you.”

“You should come outside for a bit,” encourages Scanlan, gently. “Get some fresh air.” Percy nods, rubbing his eyes.

“I will. Thank you.” His voice is proper again, tidy and courteous. Scanlan sighs a little, watching as the mask comes back up on Percy’s face.

“Okay. Come on now,” Scanlan says, stepping back as Percy gets up, pulling his coat carefully around himself. And feeling like he had maybe made a little progress, Scanlan leads Percy out into the weak Whitestonian sun.

* * *

**_Four, Pike Trickfoot_ **

The year off has been very relaxing. Pike has thoroughly enjoyed living in Whitestone, working in the Slayer’s Cake and seeing her friends. Currently, she is staying with Percival and Vex’ahlia, in the house that Vex has been building. It’s a late night and the stars are twinkling brightly. Pike doesn’t feel tired yet, standing peacefully outside on the porch as she contemplates.

All is peaceful.

All is still.

Until, it isn’t. There is a strangled yelp from inside and the sound of a door slamming. Immediately, Pike gets up, hurrying as fast as her little legs will carry her.

There, stood on the upstairs landing, head in his hands, is the familiar figure of Percy. The white-haired man is trembling, his fingers pressed tightly against his temples.

“Percy?” she asks, her voice carefully level. He twitches, his head flying up to meet her eyes.

“Pike?” he asks, his voice a cracked ruin. She heads up the stairs a few steps, but Percy shakes his head, coming down them. “Don’t, don’t wake Vex. I don’t, I don’t want her to wake.” Pike nods, smiling reassuringly. She holds out a hand which Percy takes nervously.

“Come outside with me, Percy, some fresh air will help,” she assures him, guiding him cautiously outside. She knows the look in his eyes, the tremble in his shoulders, the grit of his teeth.

Nightmares.

They all have them. After the horrors that they have seen, with the Conclave and going to the Nine Hells, night terrors are completely usual. Percy is very quiet, aside from faint sniffles occasionally. And there they stand for a long quiet moment, looking up at the stars.

“I’m okay,” he says, weakly. “I’m fine.” Pike squeezes his hand.

“Of course, you are,” she assures him. “Would you like to tell me what it was about?”

“Just… things. My family. The dragons. Hell,” he mutters, shivering, though the night is not cold.

“We’ve certainly been through a lot, haven’t we? I dream about it too, sometimes.”

“You do?” Percy asks, his voice sounding careful and cautious.

“Yeah, of course, I do. The horror we’ve seen; we all have nightmares.” She rubs his hand gently, smiling up at him. “It is normal, Percy.”

“I’m, I’m fine, though. I am.” Pike gives a knowing smile, but she doesn’t challenge him.

“What do you know about the stars, Percival?” she asks, lightly.

“I, I know a bit about them? I know about the constellations?” replies Percy, thrown by her question.

“Tell me about the constellations,” she suggests as she gently pulls them into a sitting position on the porch. The gunslinger blinks, letting himself be pulled down.

“Um, um… Well, I know about The Fool?” he offers, pointing up to a collection of stars which make a vaguely humanoid being. “Legend says he teased and played and joked, but in the end, he was pure of heart and gave himself to death for his friends. The gods took pity upon The Fool and helped him into the stars. And there is The Lovers.” He points out another collection of stars, humanoids stood side by side, almost intertwined. “Legend says that they were once enemies, destined to oppose each other, but instead they fell in love. They cared for each other through many hardships and when their time came, the gods, seeing their unending, inexplicable, ineffable affection for each other, placed them in the stars side by side.” Pike smiles, rubbing Percy’s hand gently.

“They’re beautiful,” she whispers, glancing up at the man whose face was no longer stricken with fear.

“They are. I always loved astronomy,” Percy murmurs, his eyes soft and unfocused. “Science and maths were always… always what I was interested in.” His words are becoming slurred with sleep now that he feels safe. Pike smiles, rubbing his arm gently as the gunslinger’s head tips to lean heavily on her own. “Was goin’ to be a clockmaker once…” Percy mumbles as he succumbs to his exhaustion. The gnome smiles up at him, shifting around so that she can carry the sleeping human. Percy’s form is wiry and she’s much stronger than him. Despite the size difference, she easily shifts to cradle him, carrying him back inside and up the stairs, back to his bed.

* * *

**_Five, Vex’ahlia de Rolo_ **

Vex has very difficult feelings about the Feywild. It is such a confusing and complex place and so many terrible things had happened there. After fleeing from the Briarwoods and Vecna by means of Keyleth’s plane shift, after Artagan had promised to help by means of something very unusual and uncomfortable for Vex, she sits by her husband. Percy’s hair is still dripping from the lake water and his right hand, his gun hand is shaking terribly.

“Percy?” she asks quietly, and he turns to her, blinking.

“Yes, love?” he responds with a gentle smile, but his eyes are bloodshot behind his glasses.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, yes, I’m fine. How are you?” he asks immediately, reflecting the question with ease. But Vex is stubborn. She scowls, reaching up to cup his cheek and tilt his head, inspecting his eyes.

“Your eyes are bloodshot, and your hand is shaking. Issues with Animus again?” Percy sighs a little.

“Using it a lot can cause some fallout, sure. The issues of a very dangerous weapon. But I’m fine. It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” Vex huffs, taking his hand in her own and he relaxes against her immediately.

“Don’t cut yourself off from me,” she murmurs. “Especially not now.” He turns and presses a kiss to her cheek.

“I’m fine, darling. I’m just worried about you.” Vex gives a little shrug.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Too late,” teases Percy, his face cracking into a small smile. “I already do.” She rolls her eyes playfully, nudging him.

“Honestly.” She would have taken that at face value and left him alone, but when she nudges him, pain flashes through his eyes. She scowls. “Percival, you’re in pain!”

“It’s nothing, honestly,” he tries, but he’s holding his right arm at an angle now and she huffs, burning the last of her spells to heal him slightly. As the cool green magic seeps into his skin, Percy relaxes ever so slightly. An increment of his carefully maintained mask flakes away. Vex knows better than to be upset by it; it is merely how Percy has always been.

”Better, darling?” she asks, raising one eyebrow and he nods, a little curtly.

”Yes, thank you.”

”I do wish you would say when you’re in pain. I know I can’t convince you not to use Animus but it does hurt when the gun hurts you and you hide it,” she says, quietly. Percy sighs softly, leaning against her more firmly.

”I know. I’m sorry. But really, I’m fine. I’m doing fine, Vex’ahlia.” He tilts his face to gently kiss her cheek. “But thank you for looking after me.” Vex sighs a little, arm gently wrapped around his waist.

”Mm, it’s what I’m here for,” she says, her eyes fixed on Percy’s right arm, which is still trembling. The veins are clearly visible, stark purple-blue against his pale skin. She doesn’t have any healing magic left but it doesn’t stop her gently stroking her fingers down his arm, soothingly. Percy catches her hand gently, winding their fingers together.

”Leave it, I’m fine,” he whispers to her but she huffs.

”I don’t believe you, but I’m willing to let you keep saying it.” Percy rolls his eyes, which are still red with popped blood vessels. She sits up to kiss over his eyelids and he sighs, letting her. “I know you want to be okay, Percy, but it’s also okay to be tired. We’re all a bit rough.” It’s true. Crawling and fighting their way up Thar Amphala had been taxing and there was no way they could have ever beaten Vecna in the state they’re in now. The slog has been far too much. Percy sighs softly.

”I know, I know,” is all he says, pressed up against her. She can feel the shakes slowly subsiding and it makes her smile. She’s so lucky to have him, even if he can be an idiot sometimes.

”I don’t like that gun very much anyway,” she says, conversationally but from the crook in Percy’s mouth, he is not fooled. 

“It’s useful,” he replies. “It is a magical weapon which makes it useful against lots of creatures.”

”But it’s so...”

”Bloody?” finishes Percy, the smirk growing cynical.

”Yes. I mean, that’s _her gun._ She killed you with that gun. And every time it hurts you, I’m reminded of that,” Vex whispers and she feels Percy’s grip tighten slightly. 

“I know. I’m sorry. But I need it.” 

“I know love. Can you at least promise me something?” Percy’s eyebrows raise but he nods for her to continue. “Don’t hide it when it does this. Don’t lie and say you’re fine. Let me help?” The look Percy gives her is soft and gentle and a little exasperated in equal measures.

”I will try,” he offers, sighing. “I will try to tell you.” Vex’ahlia nods, knowing she won’t get much better than that.

”Okay, darling. I love you.”

”I love you too, Vex.”

* * *

**_+One, Vax’ildan_ **

Still, years after they have saved the world, Vox Machina are getting into all sorts of trouble. Considering that they have fought gods and won, there isn’t much which can scare them any more, but as Percy had reminded them; they’re still rather squishy gods themselves.

And that’s especially true right now as Percy lies flat on his back, clutching at his torn open side. The ancient green dragon that they had taken on is vicious and cold and not afraid to play dirty. Wyverns had assisted the dragon, scattering the party and now Percy is out on his own, badly injured and staring up into the faces of three wyverns. Animus is jammed, Bad News has been thrown thirty or forty feet away from him and Retort is weak in his grasp. The wyverns can sense the kill. And as Percy struggles to get off bullets, his eyes are closing, his head is dropping. He tries to reach for his earring, gasping out with short, shallow breaths.

”A, a little help?” But there is no response before a wyverns strikes out, faster than Percy and tears open his chest.

Pain.

And then everything goes white.

He blinks, feeling untethered, void, empty and there is a sigh next to him.

”Thought you’d last a little longer than that, Freddie,” comes an achingly familiar voice and Percy sits straight up. Sure enough, crooked grin on his face, there is Vax’ildan. He looks exactly the same as he did after they’d defeated Vecna, same beads in his hair, same long black feathered wings, same armour.

”Vax?” he chokes out and his brother in law smiles.

”I mean, you’ve barely aged! It’s been what, two, three years?”

”Three years and 7 months,” Percy says immediately and Vax’s face goes soft.

”You kept count.” Percy blushes at that, standing up. It’s then he realises he is nude and he panics. But as soon as he does, he is clothed once more. Vax looks very amused. 

“We miss you,” Percy says, not holding his gaze. Vax’ildan reaches out to take his hands. 

“I miss you all too. Tell them I said I hi when you go back.”

”How, how do you know I will?”

”Pike’s very rapid run over to your body right now,” says Vax lightly, looking over his shoulder. Percy spins to look and sees his own body and Vox Machina running over, as though through a veil.

”Oh...” is all he says, weakly. His legs are shaking.

”You okay, Freddie?” asks Vax gently. And Percy goes to say yes, he’s fine, he really does. But he’s not fine. He’s dead. And whilst it might not be permanent, Vex’ahlia is still sobbing over his lifeless corpse, begging Pike to fix it. He shakes his head ever so slightly.

”You know, I don’t think I am okay,” he says, voice cracking. Vax’ildan smiles a little and heads over to him, embracing him gently.

”Eventually the mask falls,” he says. “It’s okay to need help, Percy. It’s okay to be upset. We’re here, we’re family.”

”Even you?”

”Always. You are my brother,” says Vax softly. Percy leans against him, sighing a little. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs and then there is a firm tug in his chest. 

He hears singing, celestial singing, a song for the lost, calling them back. Pike. 

_Percy, don’t leave now. You have so much to live for, come home._

Keyleth’s voice.

_Come home, Percy, you can’t leave me now... I, I need, I need you, I love you. You’re my everything._

Vex’s voice. He looks over at Vax, who looks sad, but so understanding. 

“Tell them I love them,” he says. “And open up, let them help.” Percy smiles, sorrowful.

”Goodbye, Vax.”

”Oh, it’s not really goodbye, Percy. I’ll always be here. But don’t be coming to visit too soon, alright?” Percy nods, smiling as the void space fades.

And Percival is conscious, lying on the floor, with Vex’ahlia pressed over him.

”Hello, darling,” he croaks, patting her head. He hears her sniffle but she looks up, rubbing her eyes.

”Don’t, don’t do that again!” she hisses. 

“Sorry,” he says, softly, sitting up slowly. Vox Machina are all gathered around and he gives them a little smile.

”Vax’ildan says hi and he loves you all. But, I’m... well. I’m doing better, but not necessarily okay.”

* * *

Percival Frederickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third, is not okay. He’s traumatised and exhausted and terrified. But he has his family and they can get through it together.

**Author's Note:**

> Any guesses as to who the constellations are after? Just a little fun. 
> 
> I’m on twitter and tumblr as HistoriaGloria come and yell with me!


End file.
